


Unintended Consequences

by lastSaskatchewanPirate



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mech Preg, On Purpose, Pregnancy Kink, Starscream is hella knocked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastSaskatchewanPirate/pseuds/lastSaskatchewanPirate
Summary: In which the inevitable consequences of Megatron's desire for an heir must be faced, and Decepticon staff meetings will never be the same.





	Unintended Consequences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spoon888](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/gifts).
  * Inspired by [62 Hours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15672630) by [Spoon888](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888). 



> I have absolutely no excuse for this story, except that a rabid plot bunny seized onto my ankle upon reading 62 Hours, and Spoon888 was gracious enough to allow me to run with it.
> 
> Also, for some reason I appear to have been possessed by some second-rate Jane Austen knockoff while writing this, so the prose is even more turgid than my usual. Again, I have no excuse. What even the hell, brain?

For completely understandable reasons of self-preservation, Megatron had of late refrained from joining missions that would require his extended absence from the command deck, particularly if said missions would normally have involved the participation of his notably mercurial second-in-command. However, for reasons that don’t require a detailed discussion at this time, events had finally conspired to require his participation in a different sector entirely, and he had just this moment returned to the _Nemesis_ following a ten-day absence.

Megatron had approximately 6.53 picoseconds in which to enjoy being home before a fresh new disaster struck. As was usually the case, said disaster was named Starscream, and he was waiting for Megatron in the med bay.

*

The outcome of Megatron and Starscream’s marathon sixty-two hour frag session had been not only expected but intended, but that didn’t mean that Starscream was going to be anything other than petulantly vocal in expressing his discomfort almost immediately.

The crux of the problem was that Starscream’s compact, streamlined Seeker frame was a precision instrument of speed and aerodynamics, perfectly suited to aerial combat and infiltration. That same compact, streamlined build – specifically, the trim little narrow-hipped torso – was dramatically ill-suited to carrying the offspring of any mech larger than another Seeker. Given the size differential between Starscream and Megatron, it should have been unsurprising that Starscream’s tightly-structured internals would have experienced significant stress.

The lack of surprise did not assuage Starscream’s irritation with the aforementioned stress and discomfort in the slightest.

During the course of said marathon sixty-two hour frag session, Megatron had provided Starscream’s primed gestational tank with a frankly heroic and somewhat staggering quantity of transfluid – certainly Starscream found himself staggering afterward, not to mention loudly disgruntled about the prominent bowing of his abdominal plates thanks to the overfilled gestational tank behind them; he had finally conceded to allow Megatron to carry him to med bay instead of walking himself, as every step managed to produce yet another overpressure warning cluttering his HUD.

Hook had run a few scans, looked appallingly impressed by Glorious Leader’s apparently virility, and then shrugged.

“Well, you’re sparked,” he said, “so—“

“Please tell me you have something more valuable to add to the conversation than that,” Starscream snapped.

“—so the, uh, _distention_ ,” said Hook, opting for the closest simulacrum to diplomacy that he could muster, “should subside in a day or two as your gestational systems reroute the transfluid for processing and integration.”

The _distention_ did not, in fact, subside.

This was no doubt due in no small part to the fact that Megatron found himself inspired to continue making significant transfluid contributions to the procreational cause, which meant that the _distention_ was being given no opportunity whatsoever to subside, and in fact was only being encouraged.

Hook, consulted this time at gunpoint by a seething Starscream, merely shrugged unhelpfully once again, and suggested that perhaps taking a break from the nigh-constant clanging might be helpful.

Like the _distention_ , the clanging likewise failed to subside.

Part of _that_ problem was that sire and carrier coding tended to encourage frequent interface between partners, both to strengthen emotional bonds as well as to exchange materials vital to the sparkling’s healthy development.

The other, and perhaps more significant, issue was that Megatron had a previously-undisclosed breeding kink with a capital BREED, and he could.

 _Not_.

Keep his damn hands off of Starscream’s increasingly ample frame.

After several weeks of this, Starscream bowed to the inevitable and, in typical Machiavellian fashion, decided to wring every last iota of personal advantage out of the situation.

There followed several days of increasingly awkward staff meetings, in which Starscream would carefully position himself just inside Megatron’s line of sight and then ostentatiously lean back in his chair, showing off the undeniably _present_ curve of his lower belly; and then he would stroke it.

Lasciviously.

Staring directly at Megatron the whole time.

Unsurprisingly, this would lead to an inevitable and systematic breakdown of Megatron’s ability to lead a meeting and, eventually, his ability to coherently string together more than two words at a time. It was like watching an avalanche being set off by explosive charges placed by the world’s foremost expert in said field. It was masterful. Once Megatron started rubbing the tips of his fingers against the table, it was only a matter of minutes before his eyes would glaze over and the meeting would be abruptly adjourned, all other participants rudely dismissed, and the doors of the conference room (hopefully) closed and locked.

Unfortunately for Starscream’s devious connivery, Megatron was horny, not stupid; and while he quite enjoyed the show Starscream was putting on – not to mention the main event after he had chased everyone else from the room – he was perfectly aware that continuing to allow this behavior would eventually undermine his authority. Also, it had been weeks since he had actually been able to get anything done, since he couldn’t get through a single planning session without being interrupted.

The next staff meeting, therefore, proceeded rather differently. Starscream, as usual, started off with his now-customary personal massage; and Megatron, rather than soldiering on until he could no longer think straight, simply reached over, plucked Starscream out of his chair, and positioned him directly over Megatron’s lap.

“ _Open_ ,” said Megatron in a nigh-infrasonic rumble; and Starscream went limp in his grasp, head lolling back and interface panel snapping open to briefly reveal a very ready valve – briefly, because Megatron immediately lowered him onto an equally ready spike, lowered him until that ready spike was fully hilted in Starscream’s ready valve, and then proceeded to ruthlessly and inexorably frag Starscream into a drooling, strutless puddle of overstimulated jet.

While continuing to run the staff meeting with equally ruthless determination. That damn incursion into the Benzuli Expanse wasn’t going to plan itself, after all.

It turned out that, while Megatron did manage to capture and hold the attention of every single mech in that conference room with levels of focus hitherto unknown in the entire history of the Decepticon Cause – and possibly the entire history of staff meetings, for that matter – he was not ultimately able to finish planning that damn Benzuli incursion at the time, simply because no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was _saying_. He decided to chalk it up as a net win, however, since it did shift the balance of power once more under his aegis and out of the sharp, grabby talons of Starscream.

Until the little blighter came up with a new plan, of course …

*

Unfortunately, the sexy staff meeting shenaniganry was rudely interrupted the following day by the very-important-yet-not-requiring-further-explanation mission that took Megatron away from the _Nemesis_ for ten very long and chronologically significant days.

And now he was back, standing in the med bay and staring in open astonishment at the furious Seeker who was delivering a likewise furious diatribe detailing all of Megatron’s many and varied personal failings, starting with personal hygiene and progressing rapidly to a vicious dissection of every decision he had ever made as Decepticon Commander.

Megatron was not listening.

When he had left, ten days ago, Starscream had been sporting a tidy little baby-bump, certainly larger than one might expect for a carry at such an early stage, but Hook had – as usual – shrugged and suggested that the sparkling might be taking after Megatron in terms of frame size; at that stage of development, basic scans could determine little aside from the overall health of sparkling and carrier. An experienced obstetrician could no doubt have done more, but Hook was quick to point out that “experienced obstetrician” appeared nowhere on his CV and had certainly never been even vaguely hinted at as being a necessary skillset for CMO of the Decepticon flagship.

Hook’s qualifications aside, Megatron had left on his narratively-convenient mission assured that both carrier and sparkling were in fine health, if not a little crabbier than usual due to the general discomfort.

Now, on his return, Hook’s assurances that everyone was still in fine health had successfully penetrated Megatron’s shock and rising lust, but that was about the extent of effective information transfer, because Starscream was no longer sporting a tidy little baby-bump.

Starscream was so ridiculously gravid that he looked like he was ready to pop.

He was so ridiculously gravid that his wide-legged, hands-on-hips stance was clearly a thinly-veiled struggle to avoid falling over, and his fists were a little too far back to be properly on his hips and were, in fact, clearly providing support for his lower back, which it desperately needed …

He looked, to Megatron’s admittedly untrained and lust-glazed eye, like he was about five seconds from delivery.

“—all _your_ fault!”

The screech seized his attention by the throat and shook it into submission. Megatron forced himself to focus on Starscream, who was clearly trying to communicate something he considered important.

“I certainly hope it isn’t anyone _else’s_ fault,” Megatron pointed out in a dangerously possessive tone, “and it’s not like you didn’t agree to carry an heir for me in the first place—“

“ _An_ heir!” Starscream shrieked at him, and clearly thought about kicking him and then reconsidered just as quickly. “ _One!_ Singular! That was the agreement!”

Megatron eyed Starscream’s impressive rotundity in a speculative manner. “I had assumed we could discuss the possibility of further … _cooperative endeavors_ … at a later time—“

“Yes, well, it looks like that ‘later time’ is, in fact, now,” said Hook, seizing the opportunity to break in without immediate threat of grievous bodily injury, and handed a datapad to Megatron.

Megatron took the datapad, looked at it, and found it no more illuminating than any other part of the debacle in which he was presently mired.

Hook sighed as though betrayed by all the gods, rotated the datapad ninety degrees, and adjusted the contrast.

“Is this—“ said Megatron, and then stopped.

“Congratulations,” said Hook in a tone so devoid of metaphorical moisture that it made the Atacama desert seem like a refreshing and whimsically humid change of venue, “it appears that, in your enthusiasm, you slightly overshot your attempt for an heir—“

“—or an heir and a spare,” Starscream interjected venomously.

“—and got yourself an heir and a pair instead.”

Megatron stared at the datapad, at the fuzzy but unmistakable image of not one, not two, but three little sparks nestled beneath Starscream’s, just waiting for their time to descend into the three little frames being forged in Starscream’s overworked gestational tank, and then stared at Starscream.

“Three,” he said dazedly.

“Nice to see you’ve not lost your ability to _count_ ,” Starscream sneered. “Yes, _three_. And with my luck, they’re all going to have your big stupid head.”

“Three,” said Megatron, and something in the tone of his voice made Starscream go very still, and then look warily at his commanding officer and sire of his very own trine.

“… yes?”

“You’re going to be _huge_.”

“I’m already huge!” Starscream retorted acidly.

“Well,” said Megatron, who had clearly allowed lust to override any vestige of good sense, “yes, but—“

“Are you calling me _fat?!_ ”

Megatron dodged the claws swiping for his eyes with the ease of long practice, flung the datapad aside, caught Starscream by the hips and pulled the fulminating seeker in against his body. “I’m calling you beautiful.”

Starscream snorted, refusing to soften his rigid stance. “I’m calling you delusional.”

Megatron did not allow himself to be dissuaded. “I’m calling you fertile.” He dropped to his knees in order to nuzzle Starscream’s rounded belly. “Ripe.” A kiss to the taut curve punctuated the compliment.

“Synonyms for _fat_ ,” Starscream growled, but the prickly spikes of his EM field were beginning to smooth out beneath the onslaught of Megatron’s attention.

Megatron threw aside any vestige of dignity or restraint and buried his face in Starscream’s midsection, lavishing it with increasingly fervent kisses. “Beautiful,” he repeated. Kiss. “Brilliant.” Kiss; he dodged a half-hearted kick and burrowed back in. “Vicious, deadly, _perfect_ Seeker.”

Hook decided that this was the perfect opportunity to make his escape. To hell with the fact that he was fleeing his own med bay; Starscream’s self-satisfied smirk, hands roaming his burgeoning belly, and the rising rumbling growl from Megatron in response, made it transparently clear what was about to transpire; and Hook had no need to become any more intimately acquainted with the sex lives of his commanding officers than he already was.

That staff meeting really had been unforgettable.

**Author's Note:**

> Also! Perictione reminded me of Lycaste's (Not So) Hidden Agenda, which definitely had an influence on my view of Decepticon staff meetings: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718071


End file.
